


Unexpected Song, An

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Episode: s08e15 DeadAlive, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-27
Updated: 2005-12-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 04:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Scully is hearing things she can no longer deny.





	Unexpected Song, An

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

Now, no matter where I am  
No matter what I do  
I see your face appearing  
Like an unexpected song  
An unexpected song  
That only we are hearing 

(The Unexpected Song: Andrew Lloyd Webber, Don Black) 

Two people less musical than Mulder and Scully were hard to find. She couldn't hold a note in a paper bag and, as a singer, Mulder made a good rapper. 

Still, during one of those moments when Scully chose to step outside herself and examine their relationship, she came to the conclusion that the two of them had a natural harmony; that they were, indeed, able to create 'beautiful music' together. The first known incident occurred in a graveyard during their first case. In the long run, nothing could be more ironic. 

Years before, they found themselves standing in the pouring rain while laughing together for the first time. Scully was always very conscious of propriety, especially back then. She knew it wasn't the time or place for such an action but it seemed natural. It seemed right. Here was a man who was used to being mocked for his theories and expected no deferential treatment from his new partner. But she never took the easy way out. Scully could almost hear the sounds of the tethers of scientific method snapping as she let her mind free-fall into understanding Mulder's Theory. It was a moment of respect and acceptance. They didn't agree with each other on many things, but they'd each bend a little and adjust their ways in an attempt to try. That knowledge was exhilarating. In the years that followed, she never remembered the wet clothes and the cold. She remembered the sound of their laughter. 

But that was then. It was life in a different world: a world with Mulder. 

He was dead now. 

Maybe. 

Probably. 

Definitely. 

He _was_ dead. Scully shook her head at her foolishness. 

She had been the last person to see his lifeless form in the coffin. For months, she had relived that moment in an effort to convince herself of the one fact she should know above all others. She knew the dead. She dealt with the dead every day. She still did. As she sliced and diced and taught others the fine art, she wondered why she never thought of Mulder. Of course, she hadn't permitted an autopsy on him. She didn't want to know the horrible secrets it might reveal. Whether his death was a result of one final, horrendous act of torture or a series, it made little difference. Life for him in those last few months had been hell and the only comfort she could find was in this odd form of denial. Yes, he had been tortured but perhaps his final moment had been one of quiet release, a moment when he had closed his eyes and just let go. Another irony. She didn't need scientific proof. In fact, she didn't want it. 

He was dead. That's all she needed to know. And she did know it. Sort of. 

Scully sat up against the pillows and looked out as the dawn spread a little light on her dark curtains. Her father had come to her before he died. A simple appearance in her living room was followed by the phone call announcing his abrupt exit from the world. It was, perhaps, the single most real and unreal moment of her life up until that point. Seeing Mulder for a moment before being summoned to the compound was even worse. He had been standing right there in that motel, and she had been filled with such joy and hope, only a short while before they found his battered, bruised body. If only she had not looked away. If only . . . 

Scully absent-mindedly ran her hand over her swelling belly. If she allowed herself to think these crazy thoughts, they would take this baby from her, for the good of both of them. This baby she had wanted so much. She had upset the apple cart. That was the problem. She should have been satisfied with what she had and not taken any of it for granted. She should have wrapped her arms around each mutant, listened to each harebrained theory Mulder espoused. 

"Scully." 

There it was again: the whisper of her name. It held reproach this time. It didn't always, but he wouldn't like her to second-guess herself. He wouldn't want her to upset herself or their child. All this was clear in the way his slightly raspy voice said her name. 

If she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she would gladly give herself a push over the edge. Just to continue to hear his voice. Just to see his face. 

She looked at the window again. If she concentrated, she almost could see him there again. Not wearing some odd suit, like the last time she had seen him before she had closed the lid, but with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wet and she was cautioning him against opening a window in case he caught a chill. 

"Scully, you're a doctor. You don't 'catch a chill.' A cold is a virus," he said, looking out at the street. 

"You don't live with Margaret Scully for so many years and escape unscathed," she said, not lifting herself up from the pillows. "Why are you up so early?" 

"I've got a few things to do in the office." 

"Oh." She felt foolish. She had left him alone in bed on several occasions. They were too new to all of this. Pillow talk was not their forte and here she was demanding to know what he planned to do with his time. 

"Scully . . . " His tone was chiding and endearing all at once. 

"What?" 

"Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong." 

"Am I?" 

"Yes," he leaned back against the windowsill and looked at her. "I willed you awake, you know." 

"You did," she stated flatly. 

"Yes. I bet you didn't know I could do that." 

"You're right. Tell me how long you've had this power." 

"Well, I've thought I might for a while but proved it when you opened your eyes just now." 

"You weren't making any noise and you weren't even looking in my direction when I opened my eyes." 

"My point exactly. I willed you awake through intense concentration and the desire to see those baby blues before I left." 

"Okay." She took a small breath and closed her eyes. She didn't know why she was doing this but she listened to the sounds in the room. There really weren't any. All was silent and still but she knew the exact moment he was standing in front of her. Keeping her eyes shut, she reached out a hand and touched his bare chest. She felt, as well as heard, his chuckle. 

"See, you have the power yourself. We have to open a file on ourselves." She opened her eyes and saw him as he stood before her, his hand now covering the one she still had against his skin. His eyes were soft and warm and she ached for him to come back to bed, but knew she'd never stop him from leaving when he felt he had to. 

"It can be explained scientifically, Mulder-in several ways-in fact." 

He smiled and let go of her hand. He adjusted a pair of phantom eyeglasses on his face. "Well, Agent, write that in a report and have it on my desk by noon. I'll consider it with an open mind. That will be all." 

"Frohike? Is that you?" She asked, feigning amazement. 

"Agent Scully, that is not only not amusing but downright insubordinate," he dropped his Skinner imitation. "Have you seen my socks?" 

"No, I haven't." 

"Ah, there they are." She watched as he dressed in silence. Every few moments, he would look at her across the room and smile. There were soft sounds of clothing being put on, bedding being adjusted, and two people breathing in the cold morning air coming from the now open window. It was different than the usual 'song' she noticed when they were together. It was quiet and tender, and almost heartbreaking in its simplicity. 

He walked over to the bed and put his finger under her chin. She raised her eyes to his and he softly pressed his lips to hers. 

"I hear this song in my head, Scully," he said as he broke away. 

Her eyes widened in utter amazement. Maybe they did need to open a file on themselves. 

"What song?" 

"Well, you're probably too young but there was this cigarette commercial in the 70s. For Virginia Slims, I think. It had these women in bloomers and contrasted them with women in modern dress holding these cigarettes. And someone kept singing, 'You've come a long way, baby, to get where you've come to to-day-yay-yay-yay,' or something like that. That's the song that's playing in my head this morning. Weird, huh?" 

Scully burst into laughter. She wasn't sure if Mulder even understood why he joined her, but he did anyway. It was his part of their harmony. 

They _had_ come a long way but some things remained the same. The sound of laughter was her favorite duet in their repertoire. 

Scully's smile turned into a frown as the phone rang and interrupted her memories. Damn it. It was all she had and some asshole couldn't leave her alone to wallow in peace. 

"Yes?" she said, in lieu of "hello." 

"Scully." This time it was Frohike's voice whispering her name. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I have something to tell you but I don't know if I should . . ." 

Several hours later, she closed her eyes for a brief moment. They burned and she relished the sensation. Since the funeral, she had felt as if she had been looking through someone else's eyes, at someone else's life. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking come to fruition. 

It was a sweet ache as she opened them and looked at Mulder in the hospital bed. She watched her own hand as it rose and fell with every movement of his chest. 

Scully blocked out the logic of family, friends, medicine and science. She listened to the hisses and beeps of his life support devices and knew she would hear their song again. This time, their harmony would take on an added richness as the rhythm section of their son's developing heartbeat waited to join in. 

Mulder was alive. 

Definitely. 

Absolutely. 

And, for the first time in months, so was she. 

The End 

Author's Notes:  
I once wrote a little story that was probably my biggest "bomb" ever. It had a title that was a complete (and unconscious) bastardization of Andrew Lloyd Weber lyrics. Because I'm insane and have ALW on my mind once again-and one of his songs stuck in my head-I'm trying again, "borrowing" a proper title this time. It's a lovely song and, I figured, this story probably won't be any worse of a bomb than my last three <vbg>. 

#### If you enjoyed this story, please feed the author.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title: **Unexpected Song, An**  
Author: Gina Rain  
Details: 10k  ·  PG  ·  Standalone  ·  12/27/05  ·   Email/Website      
Gossamer Category(Keywords): Story   [Romance, Angst]     
Characters: Mulder, Scully     
Pairings: MSR   
SPOILERS: Pilot, Dead Alive   
SUMMARY: Scully is hearing things she can no longer deny. 


End file.
